


Young

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2019-06-14 16:17:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15392595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Glorfindel didn’t win all his early battles.





	Young

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ephers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ephers/gifts).



> A/N: Fill for Ephers’ “Glorfindel/Erestor [a kiss out of necessity]” request on [my tumblr prompt list](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/post/176075204220/prompt-list).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Lord of the Rings, The Silmarillion, or any of their contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

It’s incredibly embarrassing to be dragged before King Turgon, and Glorfindel has to fight to keep that bitterness from showing on his face. Erestor looks far more controlled, as he always does, but Glorfindel knows him better than that—Glorfindel can tell just how unnerved he is. Unlike Glorfindel, he has no connections to the royal family, and this is probably the first time he’s been in the throne room. To his credit, he doesn’t gawk about like most commoners do.

He stands next to Glorfindel, stiff as a statue, bowing once before his lord. Glorfindel follows suit. When they both straighten, King Turgon says, “You were fighting in the streets.” 

It’s a simple, casually spoken statement, but it booms throughout the massive hall like an accusation. In Glorfindel’s peripherals, he can see Erestor visibly fighting back a wince. Glorfindel tries not to be overcome with sympathy—it’s Erestor’s fault they were fighting in the first place. He’s so _stubborn._

There’s a moment of powerful, conspicuous silence, and then Turgon laces his hands together over his lap. His cool eyes linger on Erestor as he makes it clear to both of them, “I expect better from Gondolin’s youth.” Then his gaze shifts to Glorfindel and becomes all the heavier. “ _Especially_ those trying out for the royal guard.”

Glorfindel can feel his cheeks heating. He mumbles half-heartedly, “I was... defending my honour... Your Majesty.” 

It’s a poor excuse. But Turgon asks, “How so?”

Glorfindel takes a deep breath. He can feel Erestor tensing beside him. “I offered to teach Erestor to ride, and he spurned me, implying that I hadn’t the skills to adequately instruct him.”

He can see Erestor’s blush rivaling his own, and he knows he’ll get an earful later, if Erestor’s even willing to talk to him again. Obviously, Erestor wouldn’t want it known that he can’t ride a horse even in his hundreds. Glorfindel does feel a tinge of guilt at that, but obviously, he had to tell their king the truth.

Turgon prompts Erestor, “And your version?”

With cold restraint and his eyes carefully on the floor, Erestor answers, “I simply wished for a more experienced teacher, rather than a peer, Your Majesty. I did not think Glorfindel would take it so... personally.”

Glorfindel opens his mouth, but Turgon lifts a hand, and that silences him instantly. Turgon’s frown has hardened. He tells them, “This is a ridiculous argument.” Even though he knows it’s true, hearing the admonishment from his king makes Glorfindel’s whole body wilt. He hasn’t felt so thoroughly chastised since his fifties. Turgon continues, “But for the sake of my city’s peace, I will decree a solution. Erestor will be given one week to find another tutor, and if he has not, he will graciously accepted Glorfindel’s kind offer. If, then, Glorfindel’s lessons prove less than satisfactory, Erestor will be released from them and may again seek outside help.” There’s a moment’s pause where neither dares to say a word. Glorfindel can sense that Erestor’s somewhat surprise—he startled at the use of his name. Clearly, he hadn’t thought their king would remember such trivial information, but Glorfindel knows better. Finally, Turgon finishes, “Now, kiss and make up.”

Glorfindel blinks. Erestor’s head jerks up. Glorfindel turns to look at him, and he looks every bit as bewildered as Glorfindel.

Then Erestor has to go and ruin it by frowning deeper, and Glorfindel has to swallow his pride and his blush and stamp down the crush he’s had for decades. When Erestor tilts begrudgingly forward, Glorfindel closes the gap out of pure necessity. He presses his lips against Erestor’s for a full two seconds—enough to both wreck havoc on his feelings and hopefully to satisfy their obligation. When he pulls back again, Glorfindel’s entire face is hot. Erestor lifts two fingers to tentatively touch his lips.

There’s another moment of stunned silence in the hall. Then Turgon lets out a lilting chuckle that makes Glorfindel feel impossibly more foolish. Turgon amiably tells them, “I apologize for the misunderstanding; I did not mean to do so _literally_. It is an expression taught to me by Tuor, one that I liked, but I can see now I must be careful where I use it.” Erestor twitches—Glorfindel gets the distinct impression that he’d very much like a hole to open up beneath him and swallow him right up. Turgon sighs, “Yet it is good to see that you do not find one another so repulsive. I dismiss you now, and I hope that you can behave more appropriately in the future.”

Erestor bows practically to the floor, his long, dark hair spilling down over his shoulders. Glorfindel mirrors the gesture. Then the guards are coming to escort them out. 

By the time they’re beyond the palace walls, all the anger’s left Glorfindel’s body. Erestor still won’t meet Glorfindel’s eyes.

But he slips his hand into Glorfindel’s, and Glorfindel thinks they’ll be okay.


End file.
